Kevin woke Andrew around 3 AM and asked to go to court like the addict he is. His eyes were clear of that drunk haze Andrew had gotten used to, shadowed only by whichever past memory his mind decided to bring back around tonight. Andrew didn’t have any reason to deny him when he could tell Kevin needed a hit off his vice—other than to piss him off, which was incentive enough more often than not—but despite what people believed, Andrew wasn’t cruel.
Regardless, Andrew hadn’t even brushed unconsciousness in the past three hours of his life he spent staring at his eyelids, the ceiling, and the wall (in that order). Kevin somehow managed to only drag him on a spontaneous trip to the court when he was half-awake already. Whether Kevin did it out of courtesy or fear for his life, Andrew didn’t care.
He threw on the nearest hoodie, slipping the keys to the GS in his pocket. Andrew wanted to grip the stitching of the steering wheel beneath his palms and allow himself a single, ephemeral moment to feel protected in his car without medically floating above his body. He sometimes drove high during the week when he needed time to breathe—always alone, always on deserted roads—but it wasn’t the same.
Reaching for the door, Kevin interrupted him.
“Jean is coming,” he said, tossing a look at Andrew’s nightstand. Andrew reached back for his armbands, pulling them on and throwing the door open. He nodded at Kevin on their way out. He didn’t mind leaving his armbands and sheathing a few knives in his pockets when it was just him and the addict.
They picked up Frenchy in the kitchen of Abby’s house and headed out. Andrew didn’t spare him a glance. He kept walking until the cold night air hit his face and his fingers wrapped around the handle of his car.
He was vaguely aware of Frenchy’s string of curses when he immediately pulled out of the driveway. Fall out of the car or not, Andrew didn’t really care as long as it wasn’t his job to clean up the blood. The drive to the stadium was quick. Frenchy got out the second Andrew threw the car in park and Kevin followed soon after.
Kevin paused, giving Jean the code so he could let himself in, and ducked his head back in the passenger window before Andrew got out.
“Are you going for a drive?” he asked. Andrew raised an eyebrow when Kevin just stared at him. “Go for a drive.”
“What about you?” Andrew said.
“Jean can protect himself and me, if need be.” Andrew scoffed.
“You act like I trust him.”
“You don’t need to. I’ll be fine. Just go, Andrew. Watching this practice isn’t worth your time.” Andrew narrowed his eyes. There weren’t many times when Kevin fought to be by himself. He and Kevin almost always coexisted in the same space. It had started with their deal and eventually morphed into something different over the months. It wasn’t something more, Andrew knew, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it eventually became that.
When they first met, Kevin hadn’t viewed him as a mental case with a body wrapped around it like most people in his life. The only reason Andrew could ‘care’ about Kevin was because Kevin treated him as a human. Andrew didn’t fault people for calling him an apathetic psycho. Though if they were going to view him as a monster, then his ‘care’ towards others couldn’t get any deeper than protection, could it?
“Why.” Kevin shrugged and looked away. Andrew knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of him, because admitting he cared for people was almost as hard for Kevin as it was for Andrew.
“I’ll be back by 4, call if you need anything,” Andrew said. Kevin left it at that and walked away—there was only so much practice time Kevin would waste arguing. When it came to other people, Kevin rarely tried to fight a losing battle. Himself, though, was another discussion.
Putting the car in reverse, Andrew started down a loop he knew well. The road had an unusually high speed limit for the steep hills and sharp turns it held, which made Andrew’s own illegal driving slightly less illegal. He put all the windows down and turned the heat on full blast as the past forty eight hours started to unravel in his head.
Spencer Green, at the time, was a passing ship in Andrew’s life—one he never intended on seeing again. Andrew knew a lost cause when he saw one, and Abram was a blind, caged rabbit. After those few months in juvie, Andrew figured the red-headed flight risk either went up in flames or sunk because he’s too idiotic to run a ship by himself.
He had another twelve months in that cell to convince himself that Spencer Green was a figment of his imagination. Andrew’s life wasn’t conducive to bright things, and Abram’s blue eyes didn’t belong there. He was proven right, after all. Not only did Abram leave, Spencer Green was imaginary all along.
Andrew spent two years in juvie. He was angry the first year, defeated into the second, and self-destructive through it all. By the end, Andrew had reached a level of apathy he didn’t know his way out of. He would, voluntarily, push his GS off a bridge before returning to the person he was when he left Cass. That person cared too much and wanted things he never got.
Few things terrified Andrew; becoming that person again was one of them. If it happened, he would get in the drivers’ seat and press the pedal down himself as he smashed his most prized possession to smithereens.
There were many things about juvie Andrew didn’t bother fixating on. Two years of sleepless nights, two years of being a thing and a hazard rather than a human, and, maybe worst of all, two years of no candy. Two years of seeing Drake, one year of hugging him and smiling at him, one year of ruining his relationship with Cass the second Aaron’s name came out of Drake’s mouth.
Andrew’s eyes focused back on the road when the leather of the steering wheel creaked under his hands. He took the next exit and made his way through a trashy suburban street that mainly housed college students.
Pulling into his unofficial designated parking spot, Andrew made his way around the front of the building. He grabbed a rock off the side of the road and threw it at the rusted pin holding up the ladder of the fire escape. It hit home and the ladder came crashing down. His aim was one of the slightly-less-annoying side effects of playing stickball.
Andrew made his way up the ladder and to the seventh floor escape balcony by muscle-memory. A familiar spike of fear cut through his strange blend of apathy and anger as he stepped off the rusted escape landing and onto the first balcony. The apartment balconies weren’t connected, but the gap between them was less than two feet wide. By the time Andrew made it to the right apartment, adrenaline coursed through his veins.
Andrew took one of his first unlabored breaths in the past 48-hours as settled on the railing, his back leaning against the apartment wall and his legs dangling over the edge. The fact that Andrew had the option of pushing himself off the railing settled something in him.
The thought didn’t worry him. Andrew knew himself well enough by then to know how much control he truly had over himself. Being locked in a room by yourself for an extended period of time tends to have that effect on a person. While some people try to claw their way from the brink of sanity, others make peace with it. Sometimes, though, Andrew wished he wasn’t the latter. Maybe then he’d be able to push himself over the edge.
A rattle came from behind him, followed by the sound of the glass door sliding open.
—
“I have a front door, you know,” Wymack said. He sighed when Andrew just shrugged, stepping out onto the balcony and closing the door behind him.
Wymack looked at the two plastic adirondack chairs then back at Andrew. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Andrew to break and enter in the middle of the night. Wymack guessed this wasn’t exactly considered entering, but he had no idea if the little gremlin broke anything on his way up here.
Andrew’s eyes were trained on the ground, not straying for a solid minute.
“Andrew,” he said. Wymack repeated his name when the kid didn’t immediately respond. Andrew’s eyes eventually met his, and Wymack stilled at the far-away look in them. It wasn’t the out-of-body, high-above-his-fucking-mind look he wore when he was medicated. His eyes were calm in a way they never were on his meds, and Wymack saw that self-control Andrew wore like a second skin.
He knew how important that was for Andrew, someone who naturally lived at rock bottom and felt anger like a physical transformation. Those were the two extremes for Andrew. Wymack only knew them so well because he understood them, he lived them. Anger was lethal to others when Andrew felt it, but he was skillfully crafted in taking himself apart stitch by stitch all other times.
Wymack’s eyes dropped to the street far below before tracking their way back to Andrew’s gaze.
“Are you thinking or plotting?” Wymack asked with a casual air Andrew absolutely didn’t fucking believe.
“What answer are you looking for?” he asked. Wymack was surprised he got one at all.
“The honest one.” Andrew rolled his eyes and Wymack let it go, dropping into the plastic chair. “Why the fuck are you awake at 3AM?”
“Hypocritical, no?” Andrew responded.
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“Thinking of a certain birdie?” he asked. They both knew he wasn’t talking about Jean. Wymack trusted that the kid would be fine, and Kevin could hold him together while he was here. Whether or not there’d be any vodka left in Abby’s house until Jean left for whichever school Nathaniel intended on sending him to was another story.
Andrew let his head fall back against the wall.
“He’s a lost cause, Coach,” Andrew said.
“So were you,” he said.
“You gave me a way out.” Andrew paused. The words weren’t said with any noticeable trace of kindness or gratitude—just fact. Wymack had to pry his eyes away from Andrew and take a moment to make sure he was breathing properly. Coming from Andrew, that statement meant more than Wymack was willing to admit. “Nathaniel’s a tragedy in the making.”
“Maybe so,” Wymack said. Andrew’s eyes were trained on the sky now, but his hands unconsciously toyed with the ends of his armbands. Andrew only did that when he felt threatened. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t care,” he said. They were quiet for a few minutes before Andrew continued. “I knew him in juvie.”
“Really?” Wymack asked. That was news to Wymack.
Andrew didn’t talk much about his time in juvie—he didn’t talk much at all when he was off his meds—though Wymack couldn’t blame him. After all these years, Wymack avoided thinking about his own time in juvie like the plague. It happened, he was there, and he still noticed the effects of it in his lifestyle. That was more than enough contact he needed with that time in his life; there was no reason to dig up and ruminate on the actual events.
“I hated him.” Andrew’s hands stilled when he said that.
“I find that hard to believe,” Wymack muttered. Andrew shot him a glare.
“Are you working above your pay grade, Coach?”
“Don’t I always, according to you?” Maybe the moonlight cast a strange light on Andrew’s face, but Wymack swore he saw a hint of a smirk drawing across his lips.
“Are you going to?” Andrew said. If Wymack hadn’t been watching Andrew closely, he would’ve missed the words.
“Going to what?” Andrew’s jaw clenched and unclenched a few times before he spoke again.
“Work above your paygrade,” Andrew said. “With Nathaniel.”
“I’ve been trying to since he dropped Kevin off,” Wymack said. “I haven’t found a way to get his contract.”
“Keep trying.” Wymack wanted to ask why this was catching Andrew’s attention, but he refrained. If Andrew was interested in getting Nathaniel out of the Nest, Wymack knew his chances just got a whole lot brighter, but he couldn’t ignore the fear that laced his body at the thought.
Andrew rarely wanted anything… and just the wanting was enough to split the kid open if it didn’t follow through. Wymack knew that, and he wanted to go his whole life without seeing it. He didn’t know the details of what Andrew went through—the foster system and juvie were enough to fuck anyone over on their own—but Wymack figured there was a reason behind Andrew’s perfectly sculpted apathy. It was too much of an art form to be biological.
Andrew’s words from a minute ago came back into Wymack’s mind.
Keep trying.
“I never stopped,” Wymack responded.
“You don’t think there’s a way to get him out,” Andrew said. It didn’t sound like a question; more like confirming a suspicion he already accepted.
“Not one I can see,” he said. “I’ll keep looking.”
Silence enveloped the space around them, filling in the cracks and seeping into the crevices of their conversation.
Since the day he saw Nathaniel stumble into Abby’s living room with a broken, bleeding Kevin, Wymack has been searching for a way to get him out. It was true, what the press said about him. Wymack found the dysfunctional, shattered kids and offered them another chance. There weren’t many people he’d admit it to, but Wymack had lost multiple nights’ sleep over Nathaniel’s situation. He couldn’t get to him, and Wymack hated it.
Through Kevin, Wymack witnessed a fraction of how fucked up the Ravens truly were. Kevin stayed with Wymack for his first few months after getting to Palmetto. Wymack saw traces of their sick methods in every aspect of Kevin’s life: from the food he ate to the inhumane way he viewed himself to the alcoholism. The first time Wymack heard Kevin casually state that he knew Kayleigh wouldn’t want him as her son if she were still alive, Wymack saw red.
“Kevin,” Wymack called, shoving the front door closed behind him and tossing his keys towards the basket. Somehow, the keys managed to rebound off the wall and land on the floor. Fuck me, Wymack thought, throwing his head back to cruse whatever bastard decided today was the day to test his limits. ‘That day’ started when Wymack began coaching the Foxes and still hasn't ended to this day, but that was a technicality.
“Living ro…” Kevin started, his voice trailing off as if he got distracted in the span of three syllables. “Fucking hell. Did you see Knox’s pass in his last game?” Wymack shrugged off his jacket.
“Third quarter, right?” he asked.
“Yes. If he tilted his racket down about thirty degrees, that move would’ve made history. It’s still unbelievably impressive, though the Hurricane's defensive skills are purposefully mediocre at best and naturally pathetic at worst.” The fact that they were yelling across the apartment instead of waiting ten seconds for Wymack to walk to the living room clearly never crossed Kevin’s mind. “I want to try it. Did you know Knox doesn’t use a heavy?”
“I knew he did last year,” Wymack said, making his way into the kitchen. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and used the counter to pop the cap off before yelling back at Kevin. Apparently, the yelling didn’t bother Wymack enough to not partake. “I thought he would’ve upgraded by now.”
“He should. If he had, he wouldn’t even need to angle that pass. I might call him.”
“Maybe he tried and didn’t like it. He’s fast, isn’t he?” Wymack grabbed a bottle of water for Kevin.
It didn’t take a genius to see that Kevin was a borderline alcoholic, and while Wymack didn’t think now was the right time to get him off of it, he avoided encouraging it when possible. Kevin still couldn’t play because of his hand. If Wymack had tried to address his own alcohol abuse issues without the option of exercising to an unhealthy extent, it would’ve been pointless.
“Not fast enough to excuse a lightweight racket,” Kevin said, not bothering to look up from the computer screen he was studying when Wymack walked in.
“You might want a lightweight when you start training your right hand,” Wymack said. Kevin was nodding before he even finished speaking.
“Yes. I don’t know how long it’ll take to master lightweight with my right. But once I do…” Kevin trailed off again when a ref called a foul on the screen. Wymack resisted a sigh. He was unsuccessful, but he doubted Kevin cared.
“Have you eaten yet?” Wymack asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin said, eyes still trained on the screen. Wymack looked around the coffee table the computer was on and didn’t see any empty plates or napkins. Kevin doesn’t typically leave dishes lying around, but it’d clearly been a while if he already had time to clean everything.
“Recently?”
“I’ll have a natural sugar before my run and protein after,” Kevin responded, squinting at the screen.
“Have a granola bar too,” Wymack said, taking a swig of his beer. If he was less tired, he might’ve admired Kevin’s ability to have an entire conversation while studying an exy match. In all likelihood, however, Kevin had seen it enough to know the exact minute of each important play.
“Why?” Kevin said.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Kevin shrugged.
“I don’t know. I have it planned out,” he said. It was easy to talk to Kevin about his eating habits because he didn’t see anything wrong with them.
Wymack knew how important it was for athletes to track their carb and protein intake. He wasn’t arguing that. He was protesting the fact that Kevin didn’t know when he was hungry or what foods he liked. Wymack knew how much professional athletes were supposed to eat, and Kevin wasn’t anywhere near that. His protein counts were perfect, his carb intake was perfect. His overall food consumption? Far, far off.
“Kevin,” Wymack said, waiting for Kevin to flick his eyes up to him. “Are you hungry?”
Kevin shrugged, and he paused the computer in front of him before standing up. Wymack’s eyebrows drew together in confusion when Kevin just stood in place for about twenty seconds, his eyes traced around the room and his fingers moved back and forth. He nodded a second later and sat back down.
“I’m fine,” he said. Wymack stopped him before he could resume the game.
“What the fuck was that?” Wymack asked. It took a lot of effort to keep the anger from seeping into his voice, because he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.
“You asked if I needed food,” Kevin said. Wymack didn’t point out that he asked if Kevin was hungry, not if he needed food. Wymack just stared at him, waiting for an explanation. “What?”
“And?” Wymack urged.
“‘And’ what?”
“Why’d you stand up like that?” Wymack interrupted when Kevin opened his mouth, assuming he was going to give him the same answer. “What was the point of standing up?”
“Oh. I was checking if I was dizzy,” he said. “It’s a good indicator.” Wymack froze.
He stood up to see if he was dizzy. Is that what they fucking did in the Nest?
“No,” Kevin said. Wymack hadn’t realized he said that outloud. “Not everyone. It’s just what Riko and the Master have me do. Why take time out of training when you don’t need to?” There were too many thoughts speeding through Wymack’s head.
Hearing Kevin call Tetsuji ‘the Master’ had taken a few fucking weeks to get adjusted to, and even then, it still had Wymack questioning if he had the funds to replace more drywall in his apartment.
It took Wymack enough time to sort through what to say that wouldn’t drive Kevin into a panic attack or send Wymack to jail. Kevin started the game again.
“Kevin,” Wymack said, taking a breath, “we don’t do that here. At all. Have you talked to Betsy about this?”
“Why would I?” he asked, pressing the rewind button on the computer.
“Because it’s fucked up that they made you do that. Did the other athletes also do it?” Wymack asked.
“No.” Kevin’s eyes stayed glued on the screen.
“Then why did you?” Wymack knew the question was too simple for the situation, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around everything Kevin was saying.
“They told me to. Do you really think I had an option?” Kevin asked.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Wymack said, running a hand over his face. It was hard to look at Kevin—an unbelievable athlete with an insane amount of dedication and an obnoxious, loving addiction to training—and not wonder how he made it out alive.
Kevin clearly understood that normal teams didn’t function like the Ravens’ did, but he didn’t understand that there were other lifestyles outside of what the cult bred him into. There were other ways to live, and Wymack wanted to show him. He wanted Kevin to see that there were ways of living that didn’t involve the amount of pain he’d always endured.
Wymack knew, the second he saw Nathaniel drop a passed-out Kevin on his couch, that there was no hope for him. There was no question, no hesitation. Wymack would take Kevin in and do everything in his power to give him a chance at life he never got. And through it all, Wymack saw Kayleigh in him, and it broke his heart.
I’m sorry, kid. That didn’t even start to cover it.
Sighing, Wymack came back to the present and turned towards his office. Kevin could go through video review for hours—Wymack had witnessed it first hand—so he decided to leave him to it and get some of his own work done when Kevin spoke up again.
“It’s fine,” he said, responding to Wymack’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Wymack resisted the urge to sigh again and opened the door to his office. “Riko and Tetsuji were like my brother and father. Of course I listened to them. I knew Kayleigh wouldn’t want me anyways, if she were alive. Who was I to question the only family I had left?”
Wymack’s world came to a screeching, bloody halt.
All thoughts fled his head as if they knew the impending storm that was going to tear through his mind. He could feel the carnage, practically taste it. One sentence repeated in his head, over and over like a jack-in-the-box from Hell.
I know Kayleigh wouldn’t want me anyways.
I know Kayleigh wouldn’t want me anyways.
What’s worse is that Wymack heard traces of Kayleigh’s voice—the warm lilt, faintest whisper of an Irish accent—in Kevin’s as the phrase repeated and repeated and repeated.
I know Kayleigh wouldn’t want me anyways.
Kayleigh.
Kayleigh.
Wymack turned around, almost comically slow. He expected Kevin to be looking at him, or at least staring off into the distance.
Kevin was watching the game. His shoulders weren’t tense and his chest was rising and falling in a natural, calm rhythm. There wasn’t anything in his demeanor that made Wymack think it was the first time this idea had crossed Kevin’s mind. He said it off-handedly with practiced ease. Wymack wondered how many times Kevin had said that for it to be so casual. How many times had he heard it? How long had this idea been in Kevin’s head?
And for the fucking life of him, Wymack couldn’t picture Kevin coming up with this idea on his own. Wymack knew Kayleigh well. She was loving, and Kevin was her world. This couldn’t have developed while she was alive, nor from anything Kayleigh left behind after she died. That left one fucked up option.
“Who fucking told you that?” Wymack asked. His voice came out in an unapologetic growl that had Kevin looking up from the game. Wymack hadn’t realized he moved closer to Kevin until he saw his whole body go rigid. “Answer the goddamn question, Kevin.”
“Christ, Coach. What’s the problem?” Kevin snapped back, but not in an aggressive way. “What did I do?”
Kevin’s eyes were wide. He didn’t look scared, just on alert. It took Wymack a second to realize Kevin didn’t know why he was getting yelled at, which was why he was willing to push back. The thought did nothing to calm Wymack. He nearly felt ten years’ worth of anger management leave his body in one fell swoop.
“Who the fuck told you that Kayleigh wouldn’t want you?” he asked, barely getting the words out.
“Riko, the Master. Does it matter?” Wymack ignored the question.
“When was the first time you heard it?” Kevin shook his head, and Wymack’s hands balled into fists. Fuck the cost of repairing drywall.
“I don’t know.” Annoyance colored Kevin’s gaze because he didn’t understand why Wymack was angry, and he was probably pissed that Wymack’s meltdown was interrupting his video review.
“Think a little harder, Kevin. When did you hear it last?”
“Riko says it all the time,” Kevin started, looking genuinely confused, “What the fuck is your deal?”
Wymack lost the battle with his control, taking a hard swing at the wall. His fist went through without much resistance.
“Coach,” Kevin yelled.
Wymack aimed again.
“Wymack.” Kevin came into his line of sight, holding his hands up as if taming a wild animal. “I understand, okay? I get it. It’s not a problem.”
“Kevin,” Wymack said on a exhale. “Kayleigh loved you, Kevin.”
“That’s why you’re mad?” Kevin asked. Wymack watched an unknown expression melt Kevin’s features—some mix of realization and… apprehension? For what, Wymack didn’t know, but when Kevin met his gaze again, there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Kayleigh loved you, Kevin,” Wymack said. He could feel the anger dissipating. “They lied to you. Riko had no fucking right to say that, and neither did Tetsuji. I– I knew you mother for some time.” Wymack’s world was crumbling into pieces. He didn’t think Kevin knew he and Kayleigh dated for a while, and this really wasn’t the time to tell him.
Kevin looked like he was going to be sick.
“I’ve known for years, Coach. No need to defend it,” he said. “I know Mom loved me. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it.” It was supposed to be a question, but Wymack didn’t succeed.
“She’d be disappointed in me now. Tetsuji and my mom were really close. He said she’d disown me if she were alive. He knew her best, so why would I question it?”
“Because he’s a manipulative asshole who abused you,” Wymack said. Kevin’s face didn’t change. It was like he knew all the facts—knew the truth in his mind—and had accepted them long, long ago.
“It doesn’t mean he was wrong,” Kevin said. “You didn’t know me in the Nest. I deserved it.”
“You never did anything to deserve that.”
“Exactly,” Kevin said. “I didn’t do enough. That’s why they did it.”
Wymack’s heart split down the middle, and he swore he could hear the blood leaking out.
Kevin didn’t speak in a self-deprecating way—that isn’t him. Kevin will blandly state his faults, real or fabricated, and accept them if they’re something he can’t change or train and train and train.
This was Kevin speaking a truth he accepted. He couldn’t change it, could he? Kayleigh was dead.
If there was an award for being a manipulative genius, Tetsuji would take the gold. It was too perfect of a lie with no way for Kevin to escape it.
Wymack stepped forward and Kevin moved back a bit. Not out of fear, just caution.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Would you just hold still?” Wymack asked. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Kevin’s shoulders. Kevin, being 6’2”, was only an inch taller than Wymack. “Kayleigh loved you.”
After a long, tense few moments, Kevin relaxed and even dropped his head on Wymack’s shoulders. Wymack just held him tighter when he felt a few shuddering breaths wrack through Kevin’s body.
“Don’t let me go back,” he whispered.
“Never,” Wymack said. I’m never letting you go, Wymack thought. After another few seconds or so, Kevin spoke up.
“Can I go back to watching the game?” he asked. Wymack snorted a laugh and playfully shoved away from him.
“Christ, kid. You never stop, do you?” Wymack asked.
“Not if I can help it.” Kevin’s eyes were already on the screen. Wymack sighed, grabbing a granola bar off his desk.
“Heads up,” he called, tossing it to him. Kevin’s eyes never left the screen, and he caught it cleanly.
“Would you keep Aaron’s and Nicky’s contracts if I weren’t here?” Andrew asked, bringing Wymack back to the present in all its painful, raw glory.
His head snapped up, not sure if he heard him correctly, and his gaze collided with Andrew’s. The kid was looking right at him, though Wymack shouldn’t be surprised, because everything Andrew did was calculated. The question couldn’t have been a joke. Andrew knew what he asked and he wasn’t backing down from the answer.
“Why wouldn’t you be here?” Wymack asked, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. Andrew’s question and the way he was looking at the ground earlier had Wymack’s mind running with possibilities he never wanted to consider. The images flashing through his mind were enough to screw him up for this lifetime and the next.
“Would you?” Wymack flinched back. Andrew wasn’t one to repeat himself.
“It doesn’t matter, because you’re not going anywhere, Andrew. Right?” Wymack pulled in a breath, trying to calm himself down enough to finish the conversation before he did something that would finally ruin his security deposit for good. “Why are you fucking asking me that? I need you here, Andrew.”
Wymack didn’t think Andrew could begin to understand how true that last statement was.
“Do I need to put you on suicide watch?” Wymack asked. Andrew shook his head, the gesture far too casual. “Then what?”
“You said we can’t get him out,” Andrew said. He looked at Wymack, almost waiting for him to put the pieces together.
Wymack swore he knew the full picture, but he didn’t want to see it. He knew that once Andrew set his mind to something, there was no going back.
“No, Andrew,” Wymack said.
“We can’t get him out,” Andrew repeated. “What if I go in?”
CH9: The Lunatic is in My Head
Nathaniel wouldn’t necessarily say his life got any better or worse after the whole shindig with Ichirou, Jean, and Riko… the priest, the rabbi, and the duck. And, of course, Andrew, though Nathaniel didn’t think he’d appreciate being called a priest, a rabbi, or a duck.